Broomsticks At The Ready!
by Snuffles4Eva
Summary: Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - Eight Years Of Christmas. Christmas had never been a happy time for Marlene McKinnon.
1. Bitter Taste

**Bitter Taste**

**By **

**Snuffles4Eva**

**Relationship: Godparent**

**Prompts: **

**(Word) Spree**

**(Word) Colourful**

**(Phrase) Laughter is the best medicine**

* * *

A Potter.

Aren't I burdened enough? Now, I'm not complaining, but I have an expected baby daughter of my own, an over-protective mother, a pregnant, slightly over-bearing – but still lovely - wife, the whole Voldemort and leaving thing hanging over my head, and now they have to add another.

And its name is Potter.

Curse that smug, arrogant swine with his snarky little smile, and his arm around my little sister.

Because now I've got a godson.

And it's a Potter.

* * *

I know, I know. I should be happy for them. Deep down, I truly am. But I can't really get over the fact that it's his child. Harry Potter. My best mate!

He, well, he, er, well, I don't even want to think of what he's done with my sister. I like to believe that a nice fluffy white stalk came along and in dropped little James Sirius, right into the arms of my waiting sister. I know it's childish (Hermione never fails to remind me), but that's what I like to believe, and nobody challenges me on it.

Well, a few people do. But most just raise an eyebrow, and pretend to excuse themselves, if that topic of conversation does ever arise.

I remember the first time my family heard my theory...

* * *

'I'm, er, I'm' stuttered Ginny, as she stood up from the dinner table. I looked on sceptically. She was taking a long time about it, and we hadn't yet started pudding. Tuning out, I watched as spirals of precious heat energy escaped the waiting dessert. It looked delicious. Then something hard hit me in the stomach.

'_Ron_!' hissed a little voice in my ear '_your sister is making a very special announcement. I suggest you listen_' The voice sounded suspiciously like Hermione. Reaching for my glass of water and taking a sip, I zoned back in.

'Pregnant' I spat the water all over George, opposite.

Mum leapt up from the table and bustled round to hug Ginny. I could see all my brothers and sister-in-laws getting up to shake Harry's hand and hug Ginny. I knew that my turn would come, but I couldn't seem to move. That was, until Hermione dragged me onto my feet. Mechanically I moved to my feet and gave Ginny an awkward hug, shaking Harry's hand coolly, before all the men were shooed out of the kitchen.

There was an awkward silence, before a loud cry from George.

'Finally knocked her up, then Potter!' he hollered from his end of the living room. Laughter broke out through the room, as Harry turned a deep shade of crimson. I watched my brothers' faces, subdued. How could they be so cool with it all? Knowing what _He _did to her, made me want to shudder. My innocent sister. Innocent no longer.

I think I knew that, subconsciously, I was over-reacting. But I didn't care at that moment in time.

'Aww, look at little Ronniekins' the living remnant of the terrible twosome spoke out. I figured my face must be tinged with pink 'He's gone all red!'

'I refuse to believe you, er, you You-Know-What-ed with Ginny' I said, stubbornly. Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. He had apparently forgotten his embarrassment 'I would rather think of a fluffy white stalk, who dropped the little bugg- er delightful child straight into the waiting arms of my baby sister' I finished firmly.

'Your baby sister?' Harry questioned.

'Yes. She is my baby sister, and is perfectly innocent. She has not been cavorting with the likes of you'

'The likes of me? What is that supposed to mean?' Harry's voice hardened.

'I've heard about you Potters. Ladies blokes, all of ya'

'I'm the only Potter left?' his words were bitter.

'I have my information'

'Like what?'

'I was your best friend for years, the first person you met on the Hogwarts express. I should know.'

'You should know, but you don't'

'Oh, I know you. You're Harry bloody Potter. You could have anyone, and yet you picked my baby sister'

'Because I fell in love with her! And she is not your Baby Sister!' He finished, shouting, his chest heaving. I suddenly became hyper-aware of the other presences in the room. My brothers and father, with their shocked looks; Hermione, standing in the doorway with that practised half-disappointed-half-angry look; and Ginny. My little sister. The look on her face tore me in two. It wasn't anger or disappointment, like Hermione's or shocked, like my brothers', but broken. She seemed torn up over our argument. Glancing around the room, I felt the palpable tension in the awkward atmosphere. Suddenly my mind started screaming '_Get out of there, idiot_' and I stormed towards the door, straight up the stairs to my old room. Lying on the bed, I closed my eyes. What an idiot I was.

* * *

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Knowing it was Ginny, I grunted. She would walk in whatever the answer.

I was correct. A long mane of Weasley-red hair emerged first, followed by the rest of Ginny. Including her pregnant stomach.

'Hey soldier' came the familiar voice I had known for almost 30 years. She sounded tired. I said so.

'It's just this whole pregnant thing – more of a burden than a blessing. I wake up at weird hours wanting to pee, then wake up in the mornings and revisiting last night's dinner. Yeah, it's really not fun.' She lay down next to me on my old bed.

'He is taking care of you, right?'

'Who?' she genuinely didn't appear to know.

'Harry' I answered curtly. She began to laugh.

'It's not funny!' I began to get irritated.

'Of course he is, Ron. You know Harry' she said gently, her voice softening like it always did when she was talking about someone she loved dearly.

'I know' I said, beginning to feel a little guilty. There was a brief gap in the conversation. I studied the ceiling, with its familiar cracks and crevices, before Ginny spoke up again.

'It gives me a good excuse to go on a shopping spree, though'

'Spree?'

'Yes, spree. A period, spell, or bout of indulgence as to pander to a certain craving or whim. Since I'm Pregnant, I get to do whatever my hormones tell me to do'

'And they're telling you to spend unnecessary Gallons?'

'Yep'

'Looks like a dieting spree would be better suited, Preggers'

'Hey! I'm pregnant, not fat!'

'Sure...' I trailed off. She elbowed me in the stomach. Hard.

'Bloody Hell!' I shouted.

'Ronald! Watch your language!'

'What?' I started to get defensive again.

'I will not have you spurting that colourful language around my child' She said firmly, reminding me of Mum.

'Colourful language? What like bloody f-'

'Ronald Weasley!' now Hermione's admonishing voice entered the conversation. I looked to see my wife – of 5 months – standing in the doorway. I did my best sheepish face.

'Ronald, we're going home' and with that, Hermione flounced downstairs. Ginny gave me a pitying look. 'Good luck' she whispered, kissing me on the cheek, and slipping out the door.

Gulping, I got off the bed. It was gonna be one heck of a journey home.

* * *

So now, 2 years on, I'm sat on the carpet in my front room, playing with an 18 month old James Sirius. He is cute, really. I reckon that's Ginny coming out in him.

The youngster in front of me has Harry's trademark messy black hair, with Ginny's chocolate eyes, a sense of humour to rival George's and the tendency to tantrum like Ginny used to.

The best thing about this kid, I've found, is his laugh. The way his little mouth curves upwards into a cheeky smile, his cheeks with two cute little dimples, and how his eyes dance, the way Ginny's do. Then a cheeky gurgle comes out of his smiling mouth and he looks so darned adorable that you just wanna pick him up and cuddle him.

Trust me. I'm a mid-30s, cynical ginger guy. I'm tough to break, but this kid's laugh just shatters me. It makes you want to pick him up and take him home. I would, but I think Ginny would kill me.

I think that's what did it for me, really. The kids' laugh that is. I was a bit sceptical when Ginny first laid him in my arms, telling me I was his godfather. Hermione gave me that look, and I tried to get to know my little godson, offering to babysit whenever. It's difficult, as he is almost the spitting image of Harry, and it feels… wrong, somehow.

But then, earlier, he laughed. It made me laugh, and, looking into his joy filled eyes, I knew that we would get along.

After all, they do say, laughter is the best medicine.


	2. Living With It

**Living With It**

**By **

**Snuffles4Eva**

**Character: Snape**

**Verb: Brooding**

**Prompts:**

**3) (quote) 'So many books, so little time' – Frank Zappa**

**4) (word) friction**

**9) (word) creature**

* * *

'Of all the people who come back to haunt me, I get stuck with you?'

'I'm not exactly thrilled about it either, you realise'

'But why me?'

'I dunno. After they kicked me outta Heaven, I have been bound to your soul'

'What did they kick you out for, bad poetry?'

'No, tormenting you'

Harry Potter rolled over and groaned. 7:00 AM. It was too early to be arguing with a dead Snape.

* * *

'Rise and shine!' Hermione's cheerful voice floated through his London apartment. He groaned, and stuffed a pillow over his head. 'Harry, get up!' She had apparently found his room.

'Go away, 'Ermynee' he grunted, as the pillow he was protecting himself with was torn roughly from his grasp. Snape sniggered from his position on the windowsill.

'Honestly Harry. Normal people have been up hours'

Fumbling for his glasses, he found them and glanced at the clock. It read 10 AM.

'I thought I told Ron not to tell you about this place' he mumbled angrily, still annoyed at being woken.

'I think you'll find I can be quite persuasive when I want to be' she said, her smirk giving away more than Harry wanted to know.

'What a delightful young women' muttered Snape. Harry settled for a look of disgust, and attempted to hide under his sheets.

'Harry James Potter, don't make me drag you out of that bed!' He didn't move. 'Accio Harry's duvet!' Light blinded him, and the world suddenly became a lot colder. A spark of irritation coursed through his body, causing his anger to pique.

'What do you want, Hermione?' He demanded, sitting up suddenly 'I've had a terrible morning, and it's only 10 o' clock. I'm stuck with this creature-' he gestured madly to a brooding Snape on the windowsill, as Hermione interrupted him.

'Creature?' she questioned, her eyebrows raised.

'Yes, I do object' a grumpy Snape commented 'I, for your information, Potter, am a ghost. Because '_You can see through me'' _He sneered in degradation at the last part. Harry, memories of his sixth year flooding back him all of a sudden, sneered right back at him.

'Harry, why are you sneering at a windowsill?' Hermione's voice reminded Harry she was still present.

'Look, Hermione, I just can't deal with all your bloody questions, alright? First Snape, then you-'

'Snape?' Hermione cut across him 'Harry, Snape's dead'

'But he's come back to haunt me. Look, he's on the windowsill right now!' He turned to sneer.

'Harry, we're the only two people in here'

'No, he's sitting right there!'

'No, he's not' Hermione was looking at him strangely.

'I'm telling you he is!' He insisted.

'And I'm telling you Ron's the world's biggest brainbox – doesn't mean it's true!'

Harry could see this argument was going nowhere. He flopped back down on his bed, and rolled over, only to find himself face to face with a grumpy looking Snape.

'Ahh!' He yelled, and jumped from the bed.

'What's the matter?' inquired Hermione, who was now beginning to fear for Harry's sanity.

'He's there!' Harry pointed, startled, and disgruntled.

'Potter, I'm reluctant to inform you she can't see me' he grouched.

'What? Why?'

'Harry, can you stop talking to your bed?' the note of concern was evident in Hermione's voice now.

'See' said Snape smugly.

Harry scowled at him.

'Ginny, bring Harry's pills through' Hermione called through the door, seriously worried for her friend now.

The familiar Weasley red arrived in the doorway, and smirked.

'Loving the look, Harry' she said, a mischievous glint coming to her chocolate brown eyes. Harry glanced down to find only his boxers covering his form.

'Hermione!' he hissed. He grabbed the duvet off the giggling witch, and covered himself with it, feeling his face turn a dark red. Trying to regain his dignity, he turned to Hermione, and stuck his chin defiantly up in the air, desperately ignoring his burning face.

'Why is she here?' he demanded.

'Excuse me!' Ginny became indignant now 'I have known you for 12 years. I have every right to be here – I am your best friend's sister!'

'Is that all?' Snape muttered 'I figured you two would be at least dating by now. You're practically drooling over her'

Harry pretended he didn't hear that. 'Shut up' he mumbled to Snape. Unfortunately Ginny heard it too.

'Don't you tell me to shut up, Harry James Potter! I have every right to slap you.'

'I'm sure he'd love that' Snape seemed to be enjoying the show.

'You have more right to slap me than you have to be in my house!'

'This is an apartment, Potter' Snape corrected 'You should know'

'Oh, you make me want to..-' Ginny was cut off.

'Make you want to what?' Harry said smiling, teasing her.

'Oh you-' Ginny started, before catching his smile 'You're teasing me, aren't you?' Her eyes narrowed. He held his hands up in an innocent manner.

Hermione coughed awkwardly 'Well, I'm going to wait on the sofa' and with that she strode past Ginny and out of the room.

'Hallelujah' Snape chimed in 'I thought she'd never leave'

Ignoring Snape, Harry said 'I'm going to get dressed'. He waited expectantly.

'What?' Ginny questioned from the doorway. Harry looked expectantly at her. 'It's nothing I haven't seen before, Harry' she smirked, the mischievous twinkle adorning her eyes once again.

Snape gagged. Harry turned bright red, choking on thin air. 'W-what?' he stuttered.

Ginny feigned hurt 'What, you don't remember, Harry?'

He turned an even deeper shade, his eyes almost popping out of his head.

'I'm hurt' she continued 'you can't remember the night we shared, the night we-'

'Ginevra Weasley, what would your brothers think?' Harry cut her off, determined to salvage some of his pride.

'I'm not sure they'd want to know' she smirked, stepping towards him. Instinctively Harry stepped back. Catching the look in her eye, the penny dropped. She was teasing him. Two could play at this game. He took that step back forward.

'Oh yes, I'm sure they would' he smirked, determined to win this round 'I'm sure they'd be most interested.' He was pleased to note her smile dimmed a bit.

'Oh, get me out of here' Snape groaned. Harry took no notice, taking another step forward. This time it was Ginny who took a step back. Harry, who now felt as though he had the upper hand, continued.

'It'd be a fact they'd love to here, I'm sure' he said, now continually taking steps forward. Ginny kept moving backwards, her face now devoid of any of its previous mischief, and looking slightly unsure. 'But for now-' he paused, taking the last step forward '-I'm getting dressed' he finished, shutting the door in front of him.

A bewildered Ginny stood out in the hallway, wondering what the heck just happened.

* * *

After Harry had finished getting dressed, he took a moment to pause, and revel in his triumph. It was not every day one managed to beat Ginny Weasley, and he was rather proud of himself.

'Spare me' the sound of Snape's voice broke through his state of pride 'argh, the friction between you two'

Harry turned to scowl, but said 'Friction?'

'Between the two of you. Disgusting to watch. No wonder Miss Granger exited when she could'

Harry sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Between Snape and Ginny it certainly was going to be an interesting day.

* * *

'We're here' announced Harry, as he stepped out of the floo. After him popped Hermione, and then Ginny. They both gazed around in wonder. Harry knew the feeling. When the Goblins at Gringotts first informed him he owned a house, he couldn't believe it. Neither could he believe how large it was, or the fact he had his own Quidditch pitch. He made a mental note to show Ginny later. When they finished 'umm'-ing and 'ahh'-ing over the 'come-and-go' room, as it was nicknamed.

Harry glanced around. The coast was clear. He checked again. Nothing. He mentally cheered – Snape was nowhere to be seen!

'Ugh, look at the furnishings!' came a familiar groaning from behind him.

He slumped in defeat. Someone up there must hate him.

* * *

'And here' he paused for emphasis. They had been at this tour for at least an hour, and had yet to see the Master Bedroom, the small wing next to the Master, the Quidditch Pitch, and the kitchens. He didn't think he could face Hermione's outrage of him having house elves.

'is the Library' he finished, and opened the double doors. Hermione gasped. There were books lining every wall, from the ground up to the ceiling. In the middle was a comfortable looking settee and chair arrangement, and near the window there was a large mahogany writing desk.

'It's beautiful' Hermione whispered. Harry and Ginny shared a look.

'I'm going to gag' came bluntly from behind him. Snape was always for melodrama.

'So many books, so little time' Hermione was moving trance-like towards the nearest bookshelf.

'Who and what now?' Harry felt Ginny whisper in his ear. He didn't know, and he was just about to open his mouth to say so when he heard a scathing reply.

'Frank Zappa. I thought even you would know that, Potter.'

Once again doing his best to ignore dead Snape, he turned to Ginny and said 'Frank Zappa'

Her eyes met his, and then scanned his face appreciatively. 'Very good' she muttered. They watched for a few minutes before it became evident that Hermione was not going to leave her newfound piece of Heaven any time soon. Shutting the door quietly behind them, they escaped the Library, a moody Snape in tow.

* * *

A little while later they were downstairs in the kitchens, enjoying a cuppa and some of Fry's (A house elf he owned) freshly baked tarts.

'Is that it then?'

'Is what it?' Harry didn't quite understand Ginny's question.

'Is that all of the house?'

'Oh, oh, yes. Yeas, that's it'

'Are you sure?'

'Why do you ask?'

'I don't seem to recall seeing the Master Bedroom' that mischievous look was back to Ginny's face. Harry felt himself turning red, as he stuttered 'Wh-why do you need to see that?'

Ginny twirled some of her red hair around her finger 'Oh, you know…'

Harry could see where this was going. Scanning the area for an escape, Ginny's t-shirt caught his eye. It was her Holyhead Harpies shirt she had bought after she had to cover the last match for _Witch Weekly_. He had found his escape route.

'Up for Quidditch?'

* * *

'You have your own Quidditch Pitch!' Ginny yelled. Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment. He had taken her down there in an attempt to stop her embarrassing him. It wasn't working.

'Well, it's been in the family for years…' he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Ginny turned on her heel, and strode away.

'You're on, Potter' she called over her shoulder, as she went for the equipment shed.

* * *

'Well wasn't that a delight?' Snape's sarcasm interrupted Harry's peaceful thoughts.

'Can you bog off? I'm trying to sleep' he grumped.

'What, so you can dream of the Weasley girl?'

'Oh shut your face'

Snape's sadistically snide chuckles filled the room. Harry slammed a pillow over his ears.

Some things you just have to live with.


	3. Not Just A Dream

**Not **_**Just **_**A Dream**

**By **

**Snuffles4Eva**

**Prompts: **

**1) (Nursery Rhyme) Ba ba black sheep**

**8) (word) Family**

**14) (Dialogue) 'Do what you want'**

* * *

'.. And in the summer of 1610 we landed on the shores of Newfoundland, and proceeded to colonise …' Professor Binns' voice slurred into a monotonous drone as Lily Potter fought to keep her eyes open.

It was History of Magic class – but McGonagall had been blessed with having the epiphany of making the students endure the torturous Muggle history also. Now, not only did they have to put up with 3 hours a week of Goblin wars and Pixie revolts, they also had to put up with a further 2 hours of Muggle history. It really took the fight right out of her.

She had complained to her parents – the October half-term when they had come up to visit – but all she had got was '_I think it's a good idea,' _and then bickering and then _'Well, I think Minnie's trying just a bit too hard to be like Dumbledore,'_ (It was no great secret in their family that their mother wasn't exactly fond of the new Headmistress. Anytime it was mentioned would result in her father smirking and her mother turning an interesting shade of red and telling her kids to be quiet.)

'However, the colonisation of Newfoundland was the ultimate destruction of the Beothuk indigenous people, who inevitably died out from the new diseases that the colonies were bringing in... .' There was a resounding 'thunk' in the class room as a napping Hugo Weasley fell out of his chair and hit the floor. Binns, however, did not seem to notice that one of his students was currently sleeping on the floor, and carried on, much to the dismay of the class.

A loud knock at the door resounded through the class room. Lily waited for Binns to answer it. She was still waiting as another knock came, and the door swung open. In the doorway stood a handsome young man, with spiky dark brown hair, and dark eyes. He strode to the front of the room, where Binns finally noticed his presence.

'And who,' said Binns, aloof 'might you be?'

The man didn't seem to notice him, but instead scanned the front of the classroom, clearly looking for something.

'Excuse me?' Binns tried again. The man turned to face him, his face filled with irritation, as he shooed Binns away.

'You! Get out!' he said. The class watched Binns for his reaction, and Lily swiftly kicked a sleeping Hugo on the floor.

'You can't just come in here and do what you want!' gasped Binns, astounded that he was being spoken to in this way – by an inferior, nonetheless!

'I have every right! I am looking for the teacher of this class, not some game- playing poltergeist,' the man continued.

Binns' face was bright red – as red as it could be, anyway. 'How dare you!' he shouted, as a jet of bright green light spurted from his wand, in the midst of his anger, headed straight for the unsuspecting students.

'How dare I what? I am the new Professor of this class, and I-' the man's speech was cut off by a loud gasp from Binns, and then another gasp by the class.

'Hey!' called out Alice Corner 'I didn't know ghosts could go non-conscious'

* * *

After sending for the Headmistress (via Patronus, of course), the man turned around to the class.

He smiled, slightly sheepishly.

'My name' he said 'Is Professor Dobson. I'm going to be your new History of Magic, and er, Muggle History Professor. '

Hugo stuck his hand in the air 'Why has Professor Binns been replaced?'

Professor Dobson smiled again 'Professor McGonagall thought it would be a nice gift for his 120th birthday, although' he glanced down to the unconscious ghost on the floor 'she may have been wrong – for once.' He finished as the bell that signalled the end of their lesson rang, and the loud scraping of chairs and chatter of students was all that could be heard. The students filed out one by one, leaving Professor Dobson standing at the front on his own, wondering how Minerva had ever thought this was the best way to tell Binns.

* * *

Harry Potter was concerned. It was three days overdue. 'It' being a letter from his daughter. They wrote every week, she writing on a Saturday, and it arriving at Godric's Hollow in time for the morning post on a Sunday. He always wrote back to her on a Monday, and it arrived for her on a Tuesday. That had been the way they had done it for the past 3 years, and not one single letter had been late. Not one. Now this one was three days overdue, and Harry was beginning to wonder.

'You're over-reacting Harry, calm down' he muttered to himself, pacing holes in his office carpet. 'She's perfectly fine; she's just forgotten to write. That's all it is'. A knock at the door sounded.

'Yes' he snapped, not really caring who it was. A bushy brown haired witch poked her head around the door. 'What do you want Hermione?' he asked, pretending to listen as she blathered on about lunch. He put up his hand, and stopped her, mid-sentence.

'Tell Kingsley I'm going home' he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and slung it over his shoulders.

'But Harry-' Hermione started, but he cut her off.

'I'm going home' he said firmly, and with a small 'pop' he was gone, leaving Hermione alone with her questions.

* * *

'Lil? Earth to Lily?' Al Potter waved his hand in front of his younger sisters' face. Her head snapped up, and she glared at her older brother.

'What?' she growled. Al was taken aback. She never spoke to him like this. It was always James that annoyed her, and made her angry.

'Er, Lily, are you ok?' He questioned.

'I was fine, before you came bothering' was her curt reply.

He coughed awkwardly, but continued 'I came to help you with that Charms you were struggling with yesterday…' he broke off at the look on Lily's face '... ok, now's not a good time. I'll come back tomorrow, then. Er, see ya, Lil' and with that, he backed off, and went to sit down with his cousin, Rose Weasley.

She was just having a bad day, he supposed.

* * *

It was announced the night after at dinner. After the plates of gammon, pineapple, and eggs had disappeared, McGonagall stood up, and cleared her throat. Obediently, hundreds of young faces turned to look at her.

'Good Evening, students. I hope you are enjoying your first week back at school after the Easter break. Now I have a very special announcement tonight. Can we wish our dear Professor Binns, a very happy 120th birthday' She was drowned out by the sound of the students clapping, and wishing Professor Binns a happy birthday (Some Muggle-borns even went as far to sing Happy Birthday, but stopped quickly when they realised no-one else was joining in). When the commotion quieted, she continued 'Now, we are all very grateful to the work Professor Binns has done here, and we are very sorry to see him go, as he is off to a very peaceful retirement – In his place, we welcome our newest Professor: Professor Dobson.'

Al Potter watched the brown haired young man out of the corner of his eye. His focus, however, was his younger sister. She was not herself, he noted. He had spoken to her again earlier, to try and help with her Charms. All he had got was her evil eyes, and a bat-bogey hex threat thrown his way (It was unfortunate that she had been the only of the three to inherit their mother's talent with a bat-bogey hex). He watched as she glared at the new Professor Dobson, wondering what was the matter with her. What had this man done, as to upset his sister, when they had barely a week with the guy?

Al Potter was confused. He failed to miss the way her fists clenched as Hogwarts roared its approval for the young new history Professor, and he wondered all over again what this man had done to deserve his sister's hatred.

If Al Potter had been looking closer, he may have noticed Professor Binns' ghostly fists were clenched also.

* * *

'Harry, I'm going to need a new carpet, with the way you're wearing it out' Ginny Potter watched as her husband paced up and down their living room, anxiously waiting for the morning post. Today would be the fifth day upon which he was still awaiting a letter, and the suspense was clearly killing him.

'Look Harry, I'm sure she's just fine' Ginny tried again, trying to convince herself as much as her husband. Harry seemed to have an innate sixth sense when it came to his children, always knowing when they were hurt, or in danger. Just then, an owl flew into the kitchen. Harry practically ran to meet it, snatching the post off its leg, and flipping through the mail, hurriedly. Ginny peered over his shoulder, wishing – for both their sakes – that a letter from her daughter would be among them. A cry of frustration from Harry answered her question. The post was shoved her way, as he tore open a letter.

_Dear Mum and Dad, _the letter began.

_I know I never write, but there's something wrong with Lily... _

Ginny read no more of the letter, as her husband faced her, his face showing more stress then she had seen in years.

'Where's that clock?' he demanded, all civility gone.

'What clock?' she asked, genuinely confused.

'The one that your parents gave you, the one your father made, for when Lily was born?' Ginny knew the clock he was talking about. It was almost identical to the one in the kitchen back at the Burrow, except smaller, so it hung neatly on the wall of their kitchen and instead of the faces of her and her brothers' on the spoons, it had her, Harry, and the three kids on it.

'I think it's at the bottom of that large wardrobe in the spare room' she said, having to think about it. Her husband was already up the stairs. 'But Harry, don't you remember, James broke it' It was true. James had a bout of accidental magic when he was younger, and unfortunately, it had broken the clock beyond what a simple _Reparo _could fix.

Harry dug it out of the bottom of the wardrobe, and looked at it. Truly it was broken. All five spoons were stuck on 'school' (which was strange, because he and Ginny did not go to school anymore). His brow furrowed, a sure sign of his frustration. Then he grabbed Ginny by the arm, and led her back down the stairs. Grasping the clock in one hand, he passed her the pot of Floo powder by their fire place.

'Where are we going, Harry?' she asked.

'The Burrow' came as her reply and, with a flicker of bright green flames, he was gone.

* * *

'Has he paced like this all morning, dear?' Molly Weasley whispered to her daughter, her eyes following the form of a pacing Harry.

Ginny nodded back, absently. They were sat in the living room of the Burrow, waiting for her father to come out, and cry 'I've fixed it!' and she could prove to Harry that Lily was ok, they could go home, and relax.

She just had to wait for her dad to fix the thing.

* * *

Professor Binns sat at his desk, and sighed. He had received a lot nice gifts from students, including a small sheep inkwell from James Potter that ran around the desk when the cap was on, sung 'Ba Ba Black Sheep' whenever you poked it, and shed its wool whenever you tapped it twice on the head – the wool always growing back a different colour to what it had previous. A nice bit of spell work, and Binns would've congratulated Potter himself on it, if he hadn't been moved to an office on the third floor corridor. Which, incidentally, no student ever ventured down (although it hadn't been off limits for coming up 24 years now). His anger finally got the better of him, and he snarled viciously. He'd teach Minerva to try and retire him without his permission. And that stupid little twerp that took over his position. He'd show them. He'd show them all.

* * *

At 10:29 pm Harry and Ginny Potter could still be found on edge at the Burrow, staring at the door from which Arthur Weasley had yet to emerge. Suddenly, a shout of triumph was heard from inside the garage, and the door burst open. 'I've fi...' Arthur broke off as he looked at the clock, before it was torn roughly from his grasp by Harry, who looked at it, his face darkening. 'I knew it' he muttered, before grabbing some Floo powder, and shouting 'The Three Broomsticks'. Green Flames engulfed him, and he was gone. Ginny looked at the clock he had hurriedly shoved on the sofa. Lily Potter's spoon was positioned directly above 'Danger'. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and followed her husband.

* * *

Al Potter was seriously worried for his sister's health. She scowled all day, and now she was sneaking out at half past ten at night to the trophy room. He would wonder if she was going to meet a boy, but the map told him that the only things in that room were trophies… He thought.

Letting his curiosity better him, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, and felt around for his slippers. Finding them, he slipped them on his feet and grabbed one of his hoodies that were littered around the room.

It was time to find out what his sister was really up to.

* * *

Harry Potter rushed through the halls of Hogwarts, heading for the gargoyle towards the office he had so often frequented during his time at Hogwarts. 'Sherbet Lemon' he practically yelled at the thing. He jumped on the first step as it spiralled upwards, and burst into the office, where McGonagall was looking as though she had just come from a Governor's meeting, rather than just out of bed.

'I was rather alarmed when I received your patronus, Mr Potter' she said, concern filling those familiar wrinkles. The door opened again, and Ginny entered, sitting down next to Harry without a word.

'I came as quickly as I could Professor' Harry was still trying to catch his breath.

'She has been sent for-' McGonagall started as a knock sounded. A tired faced brown haired young man poked his head around the door.

'She's not in the dormitories, Professor' he said, his face, although tired, registered some concern.

'I'm finding her' Harry said firmly, and without another word, he strode to the door, and left.

* * *

James Potter hated being woken up. He hated being woken up at 10 o' clock in the morning, so 11 at night was almost his worst nightmare – almost. Yet here he found himself, being shaken awake in the middle of the night by… his dad?

'Oh, tell me I'm dreaming.' he muttered, and rolled over, so his face was in the pillow.

'James, get up.' Harry hissed. James opened his eyes.

'Dad, why're you at Hogwarts?'

'No time to talk James, I need the map. Where is it?' Harry confined his voice to a whisper, careful not to wake up the other occupants of the dormitory.

'Trunk.' James grunted, rolling over and falling back to sleep. Harry thanked his lucky stars James wasn't the inquisitive child, and, finding the map quickly left the dormitory. Sitting down in the Gryffindor common room, he opened up the map, scanning it with a well-practised eye. Ginny leant over the back of the settee, like she used to do, but before she could take a good look at the map Harry had closed it, and was out the portrait hole before she could blink.

Ginny took the map in her hands, and scanned it for herself. Her eyes widened. What Harry had failed to notice, is a ghost that should've been in a room on the third floor corridor, was in fact just around the corner from her daughter.

Yet, as she put the map down, and headed after her husband, the black dot that was Albus Potter slowly turned grey, and faded away.

* * *

Running down the hallways, Harry was vaguely hit with déjà vu – saving the day and all that. Turning the corner, nothing could've prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.

His daughter – His Lily – was standing in a state of shock. Blood stained the front of her robes, the grey becoming a black. Red dots were across her face and neck. Her hands were dripping with it, and as his gaze swept from his daughter, to the puddle of blood on the floor.

It was only then he realised who the blood belong to. Messy black hair, glasses discarded on the floor, Harry's heart jumped into his throat. He recognised those glasses. Scanning the area, Harry saw a vicious looking knife, stained almost to the hilt with dark red blood, lying by Lily's feet. He vaguely registered someone calling his name. Then his world went black.

* * *

'Harry,' a voice slurred through the haze. He opened his eyes to find Ginny staring at him.

'Oh thank goodness,' Ginny's shoulders slumped in relief.

'What happened?' he asked, noting they were on the living room floor.

'Well, you were pacing, waiting for your letter from Lily-' Harry butted in

'But I didn't get a letter from Lily, I got a letter from Al,' he said.

'Harry, Al never writes.' She said, bluntly 'But oh look, here's the post now.'

A large barn owl flew into the kitchen, and perched on the back of a chair. Harry got off the floor to meet it, hoping for once he was wrong. If there was one time that he really wished 'no news is good news' would be true, it would be now. To his uttermost horror, a letter with familiar handwriting was stashed at the back of the pile. Tearing it open, he prayed frantically that it _was_ only just a dream.

_Dear Mum and Dad, _the letter began.

_I know I never write, but there's something wrong with Lily…_

His face paled in dread. Flashbacks whizzed through his head. That wasn't _just _a dream.

'Get me to Hogwarts!'

* * *

**A/N: Really not my usual style, but this one ran away with itself… Hope it doesn't freak you out as much as it did me..**


	4. Pride

**Pride**

**By **

**Snuffles4Eva**

**Prompts:**

**2) (word) ground**

**3) (quote) "Children aren't happy with nothing to ignore. And that's what parents were created for" – Ogden Nash**

**14) (word) swollen**

* * *

Pride.

It was the one thing she had always hated about him. His Pride.

It wasn't even a justified Pride. This was arrogant, I'm-better-than-all-of-you, Mr Darcy kind of Pride. This was the Pride that made hexing innocents in the corridors ok. And she hated that about him.

It was his Pride that did it.

* * *

He had always been proud.

He supposed that it was a part of him – He was a Potter, after all. Being proud and being a Potter were not unusual circumstances. It kinda came with the name.

It was being proud that caused the havoc.

* * *

She remembers her first evening at Hogwarts – after meeting those awful boys on the train, their arrogance and pride still imprinted on her. She remembers waiting with the other first years to be sorted, as the large doors opening from the entrance hall, and there standing two dripping wet boys, their smirks reaching their ears. They were pushed in by the grimy caretaker, sauntering up the Great Hall like they owned the place. She remembers turning around before hearing 'Hey Red'. Doing her best to ignore them, she focuses on the elderly lady at the front, introducing herself as Professor McGonagall. 'Hey Red' they try again. She ignores, the arrogance oozing out of their voices physically disgusting her.

Suddenly she's jerked roughly around to face a young boy with curly black hair, and grey eyes. 'We're talking to you, Red' he mutters, his face inches from hers. She fights the urge to knee him where it hurts – it wouldn't look good to attack a boy on your first evening in a new school. He backs away a little, revealing the boy standing behind him. He has unruly raven hair, and hazel eyes framed by wire glasses. She thinks he would be handsome, had he not been so proud.

'You know,' the boy with the unruly hair says 'I hope you don't get into Gryffindor. With hair that colour, it'd clash horribly with the décor. But then again, they'd save on the heating – no fire would be needed!' He and the curly haired one seemed to find this hilariously funny.

She remembers sparking up at him. 'You know' she says, determined to match wit for wit 'I hope _you_ don't get into Gryffindor. With characteristics like yours, Godric Gryffindor would be rolling over in his grave'. The boys promptly stopped laughing, and she remembers turning around, feeling self-satisfied.

* * *

He remembers the spark he'd got. The lick of fire she gave him, the cheek in her answer amusing him, deep down. He remembers eagerly awaiting the Sorting Hat's decision as it fell upon her fiery locks, and how he had been torn when it yelled out 'GRYFFINDOR'. He remembers the Pride he felt when sauntering up to the Gryffindor table, winking at her, letting her know that he was in Gryffindor also, and he recalls the note he'd flicked her way that night, reading '_I can just see you clashing now… But surely you'd be more suited to Slytherin, Toad Eyes?' _

He remembers it being flicked back his way, mere minutes later. In dainty hand, it read '_Poor Godric's rolling up a storm… But surely you'd be more suited to Hufflepuff, with your level of intelligence?'_

He never replied to that note. All he remembers after that his gaze often fell upon the petite red head, seats down the table.

* * *

His Pride had never been rifer than at that first flying lesson.

She remembers the derogatory glint in his eye as he hovered above the rest of the group, watching students fail to reach the level he was at. She remembers looking up at him, to find him laughing at some poor bugger who'd just fallen off a broom below him. Her anger sparked, she remembers, and she forgot all her previous qualms about the science of flying on a household object so unstable. She remembers grabbing a broom, straddling it determinedly, and kicking off the ground with no small amount of force.

* * *

He remembers hovering above the class, only to find 'Little Red' as he had nicknamed her (In his mind only) hovering behind him.

'Who do you think you are, jerk?' she yells at him. He vaguely recalls glancing down to find the whole class now attentive to the conversation in the air.

'I'm James Potter' he remembers saying the name so proudly, and watching with satisfaction as her emerald eyes turned colder, and harder. She leans forward on her broom, in a desperate attempt to fly nearer to him.

He remembers she lent a little too much to the side.

He remembers her hitting the ground, his breath catching in his throat, her swollen ankle now meaning she could no longer walk.

He remembers students laughing, especially his curly haired friend.

He remembers a funny feeling at the bottom of his stomach when she glares up at him in contempt.

* * *

She remembers when they chose their subjects.

His Pride, and ego, was larger than it was in first year.

She remembers walking into the Common Room, with the slip of paper McGonagall had given her, hardly paying attention to everyone else, until she hears her name called.

'Evans!'

She remembers a sinking feeling in her stomach, coupled with anger as she turns around to face the boy who has been the bane of her existence since day one.

* * *

'What're you taking?' He remembers saying, wishing he didn't sound so much like a pounce.

'What is it to you?' He remembers her eyes narrowing as she answered.

'Oh, nothing, just making sure we don't take the same classes' He wishes those words right back in his mouth as soon as he says them, he remembers. There was something about that redhead. She was fun to tease, but he got this feeling in the pit of his stomach when he looked at her.

He remembers paying Marlene McKinnon 5 galleons to steal her slip for him.

He remembers taking every single one of her options.

* * *

Pride.

If she had to pick one day where his Pride had never been worse, it would've been _that _day.

The day by the lake.

She remembers running away, feeling his eyes follow her all the way back to the castle. She remembers the burning hatred she felt at his works, and his doings. The way he felt it was acceptable to humiliate other students for amusement purposes only.

She remembers going to bed, and crying over the boy who'd lost her her best friend.

* * *

He remembers stalking up to his room, and throwing everything in sight. He remembers feeling so stupid. How could've have done those things? He remembers wishing he was someone else – Moony, he remembers. Moony and Evans got along. Evans hated him.

He remembers feeling torn. He is asking himself why he did it, whilst berating himself for being so stupid.

He remembers lying back on his bed, and crying.

Crying over the girl to whom he had already lost his heart.

* * *

He'd changed by seventh year, she remembers.

He was still proud – nothing was going to change that fact about him, she realised. But this was a Pride that was justified. He was proud with his friends, when they got a difficult concept in class. He was proud of the Amortentia he had made with Remus last week in Potions class. He was proud of the jokes he and his friends pulled, ones that made everyone laugh, and nobody cry (unless with laughter – she remembers seeing that a few times).

He was proud of being Head Boy.

* * *

He remembers catching Evans looking at him.

The Pride that sparked up inside of him was quickly extinguished when he remembers that she could never really like him – his Pride in younger years had sealed his fate long ago.

He remembers glancing down at his Head Boy badge.

He remembers thinking it was ok to feel proud about that.

* * *

He remembers when she had agreed to marry him.

He felt that old familiar spark of Pride, amongst the ecstasy, but he was proud of himself for not being a pounce all his life. He was proud of her, as well.

He knew she had refused him before because of the different in their blood statuses. He was proud of her for getting over the fact he was a pure-blood, and he was proud of himself for proving to her that he loved her with all his heart, regardless of blood status.

* * *

She remembers when he first held his baby boy in his arms.

A boy with hair as dark and as messy as his own, five little fingers already curling around his big thumb.

She'd seen that old familiar glint come again into his eyes.

* * *

She remembers when Harry had first giggled at his own antics. When the little boy had ignored his father all together, and found it hilarious.

She remembers suppressing a giggle when she sees James' shocked face.

'Children aren't happy with nothing to ignore. And that's what parents were created for' she remembers quoting to him.

* * *

He remembers that old familiar feeling as his wife quotes something or other about children and parents. At one point he would've acted on those feelings rashly – he still longs to see her all riled up, like she used to be. But now he just pulls her into his arms, and, in her eyes, catches a glint of something that he knows so well.

Pride.


	5. Eight Years Of Christmas

**Eight Years Of Christmas**

**By**

**Snuffles4Eva**

**Prompts:**

**2 (word) tiptoe**

**5 (song) 'If I Die Young' by the Band Perry**

**8 (word) galloping**

**Character: Marlene McKinnon**

**Scenario: Christmas at Hogwarts**

* * *

She couldn't believe it.

As she stared at the creamy piece of parchment she held in her hand, a single tear rolled down her cheeks. She was barely 12 years old, and yet death had touched her, leaving its imprint on her so very young life.

The sick bastard had killed her father.

On Christmas Eve.

So it was that she was found Christmas morning frozen in shock and grief in the confines of her curtains, a creamy white piece of parchment crumpled in her hand.

She left for home that very day.

It looked as though she would be wearing black this Christmas.

* * *

They had become her friends.

The creatures she could see and no-one else.

The ones that pulled the carriages.

This was where she found herself Christmas morning her second year. Galloping through the trees, atop the winged creatures, feeling free.

She dreaded the hour when she would have to tiptoe back into the castle, and pretend that she had not spent the first few hours of her Christmas watching the dawn, observing how the first few rays of sunlight twinkled on the fresh snow. But for now she was content to watch the sunrise and pretend the future wasn't bleak.

* * *

Third year had been the year she had sat outside the Hospital wing for hours, fraught with worry. The Marauders had found it funny to turn the milk into coconut milk – they didn't realise that someone was allergic to coconut milk.

Someone who was now suffering from a terrible allergic reaction in the Hospital wing, her normally pale skin now red as hives broke out onto her, blending in with her red hair.

The first Christmas she had got to spend with her best friend – and she spent it in the hospital wing.

* * *

Lily refused to come back, after that year, so fourth year was spent alone. All the other girls had gone back home for the holidays, rendering her speechless as she stood in her empty dormitory. She played with a few spells now and then, desperately trying to amuse herself.

Desperately trying not to mourn for her father, that was the year she turned to something different to drown her sorrows in on Christmas Eve.

She spent Christmas morning in St. Mungo's, with her stomach having to be pumped - the Muggle way. As she looked into the disapproving, worry ridden gaze of her mother, she vows it will be the last time she ever touches alcohol again.

* * *

Christmas fifth year is when she crumbles. The Marauders throw their Christmas Eve party, as they have done for 2 years – she's just never bothered to attend, instead trying to drown her sorrows, grieving for her father. This year she throws it all away, putting on her best party clothes and dancing with every boy in sight.

That was the year that Sirius Black discovered Firewhiskey.

That was the year _someone _decided to spike the punch.

That was the year that she woke up in the Ravenclaw fifth year boys dormitory, wondering how in heck she managed to get there.

That was the year she lost her virginity – to a boy she did not even know the name of.

* * *

Sixth year is when she becomes an orphan.

As if by some sick, twisted force of nature, both her parents died on the same day - Christmas Eve.

Christmas morning she receives and owl from her beloved Aunt Sarah. She learns her mother died of a heart attack whilst out for a last minute Christmas shop. She died clutching a necklace – one she was meant to receive for Christmas. The necklace is attached to the letter.

Also attached to the letter is a will. There is a hearing to be held a week from now – New Year. She wonders what stupid pronk schedules a hearing on New Year's Day. It's like they want her to remember the death of her mother all year round. Like her year is to be haunted by the terrible fact that her family is now well and truly gone.

Another Christmas passes in black.

* * *

Seventh year Lily stays.

It's their first Christmas together that hasn't yet gone wrong.

Apart from Lily has this _awful_ song stuck in her head. She hopes that Lily is not a seer of some kind, for otherwise she'd be very worried.

But since it's their first Christmas together in 3 years, she lets it pass, and lets Lily have her stupid song.

They spend Christmas Eve in the Heads Dorms, talking the night away. She can see Lily is in denial over James, but she refuses to mention it – she wonders where James is anyway.

Her question is answered not a half hour later when James staggers in, muddy, bloody, broken and bruised. She watches Lily's face pale as she gets up off the sofa to help James.

She leaves quietly when Lily lays James down on the sofa she and Lily had been sitting on not five minutes earlier.

The next day – Christmas Day - she watches Lily stalk into the Great Hall, her back straight as a ramrod, not sparing a glance for James or the Marauders, spare Remus.

She watches as James catches her arm. Lily slaps him across the face, and runs out. James follows her.

She finishes her breakfast and walks to the Head Tower. Opening the portrait, she decides the scene in front of her is better left alone.

Once again, she spends her Christmas alone in the Seventh Year Girls Dormitory.

* * *

Christmas 1981.

Tears spring to her eyes as she remembers the song. The one Lily was singing, Christmas '79.

'_If I die young…'_

* * *

It was on Christmas Eve Marlene McKinnon was killed by the very same twisted Dark Lord that had killed her parents.

Christmas had never been a happy time for her.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm quite aware that this doesn't quite fit in with canon, but its close enough (She says…)**


End file.
